Breathe In, Breathe Out
by christmasinacup
Summary: Joan tried to deal with the fact that she couldn't save Annie from self-destruction any more than she could save herself. Spoilers for 3x11, some Joan x Arthur.


"_Breathe in and breathe out, move on and break down / everybody bleeds this way, just the same" - Mat Kearney_

I wanted to address Joan's sudden habit of pill-popping, which I hope includes a great backstory. This is a bit angsty, I doubt it's this serious on the show. We will see soon!

* * *

Joan swallowed three pills and felt them slide down her dry throat, leaving an icky feeling behind. Her chest shook, so she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.

She tried to convince herself that everybody had their own ways to cope, to deal with pain, and that this was just hers. But lately, that argument had less weight to it. She had been so out of it that she hadn't even picked up when Auggie called her about Annie. She felt like a fool, rushing into Arthur's office and grasping at straws while Arthur watched her sympathetically.

"Honey, we've tried," he said. Like there was no other way. She couldn't save Annie from self-destruction any more than she could save herself.

Lie. She could have convinced Annie not to go, told her what the real consequences were. She could have done something, anything. Instead she gave her a camera, money, and an active cover. She sent a damaged operative into a dangerous situation.

This was her fault, wasn't it?

She hadn't always been so dependent, so disastrous inside. Nairobi had changed Joan into an anxious person who woke up in the middle of the night gasping for breath, with gunshots ringing in her ears. She had lost some of her closest friends that day, and if it hadn't been for Meg, it would have been her last mission. Not only did Meg save her, but while Joan was still in the hospital, Meg encouraged her to not give up yet. So Joan continued to be a field operative until 2001.

She usually took her recommended dosage, but bringing the bottle to work was a new low. Better than the last time this happened to her. During her last breakdown, Joan had created three thin, perfectly straight scars on her right thigh with a kitchen knife. It only took Arthur a few days to find out, and the look on his face was one she never wanted to see again. Fear, anger, and sadness. Like he loved a hopeless case. That was only a year or two after they were married.

She promised him that she didn't do it often, and it was true. Self-harm was not a place she visited often. But the events of the last few days made her want to visit that place again. She grabbed her purse and keys, walking quickly out of her office and thanking god that she and Arthur took separate cars today.

Reflecting back on the last half hour, Joan realized that taking triple her dose of anti-depressants for the day wasn't the best idea, but as she drove home, she ignored her common sense. She knew from experience that is was enough to make her pass out for a few hours, or do something she wouldn't able to do if she wasn't completely calm. Like cut herself, or scream into a pillow at the top of her lungs.

After the amount of hostile situations she had been through, Joan had learned to repress her screams, tears, anything that showed weakness. Interrogators fed off of fear and vulnerability. Every operative was trained like she was, but she retained these skills long after she retired from the field, in every part of her life.

She was closed off. No emotions got past her walls, and as hard as she tried to let Arthur in, sometimes, she just couldn't do it. She pulled into the driveway of her and Arthur's beautiful home and fumbled with her keys.

When she stepped inside the foyer, she was shocked. Arthur was sitting in the living room, flipping through The New York Times.

"Arthur?"

He stood up and walked over to her.

"I knew the second I left that you were going to do it," he said softly, taking her purse and placing it on the entry table. He put his arm around her and led her down the hall and up the stairs the their bedroom. Joan was confused, and the medication was starting to kick in.

"Please, let's just talk about this," Arthur pleaded, his blue eyes calm. "I don't want to lose you to that fear and lowliness I know is brewing inside you."

Joan sighed and looked at him sadly. "I don't think I can talk about it," she whispered. "I don't know how."

He sat her on the bed and gently slid her dress up to her waist. He traced the three perfect scars on her thigh, then looked up at her.

"Just tell me why."

Joan shook her head and started to cry. "I can't. I just.. I can't."

"Yes, honey, you can. I know you can," he said gently, sitting beside her on the bed. She shook her head and leaned against his chest, tears falling onto his shirt.

"I can't," she choked out, tears blurring her vision. "Because if I do… you'll never see me the same way again. I don't want you to look at me any differently."

"I will love you no matter what," Arthur said, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "Please, honey."

She was silent for a few minutes, then raised her head, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"It was in Nairobi," she whispered, forcing herself to talk before she lost the courage. "Meg and I got separated, and next thing you know, there are riots in the streets. Guns of going off and women are screaming, trying to shield their children, protect them. I was three other agents, some of my closest friends, and when the bomb went off in the Embassy, they ran in. I came in just minutes later to find them all dead, lying on the floor, eyes wide open. I had never seen someone I cared about like that, and it scared the hell out of me. I collapsed onto the floor and started to shake, and then someone tied a blindfold around me. It's the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital with Meg by my side."

Arthur kissed her hair. "Baby, I am so sorry. I had no idea you were in the hospital."

She nodded. "Amy, Greg, and Isabelle. My three friends who were killed. Meg told me I had to stay in the field, keep fighting for them. But I didn't want the next dead person to be me, or her. So I came in from the field, like a coward, and started in the DPD. And met you."

"You are not a coward, you are a hero," he whispered to her. She shook her head.

"No, Arthur. I'm weak. They ran in there without a second thought, and I just stood there, paralyzed, watching the riots unfold. Letting people die."

"It just means you're human. Not everyone can watch something like that, and in the CIA, not many people do."

She sighed. "They could. Those three gave their lives for our country, and so is Annie right now. Eliminating Lena? Do you know how much safer that will make us?"

"Annie is on a revenge mission," Arthur said. "You said it yourself, she didn't know what she was getting into."

"So maybe she's me," Joan said. "Scared and alone, trying to get home. And no one can help her."


End file.
